Captive
by ParadoxicalOne
Summary: [GSR] Sara gets held hostage by a madman. Grissom is there almost as more of an audience to watch as the scene unfolds and Sara tempts the man to kill her.


_Disclaimer_: I keep looking on eBay, but I've yet to see it up for sale. Doubt my credit card could handle it anyway. _CSI_ belongs to CBS...

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**A/N 1 – **I feel the need to issue a warning. There is an excessive use of foul language in this. If that's not your cup of tea, you might not want to read on.

**A/N 2 –** I haven't ditched the clues. This concept has been floating around in my mind for quite a while now. I even had a dream about it one night. So, I had to put it into writing before I was able to move on.

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Captive

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Sara turned and began her ascent up the stairs of the darkened house. Grissom was fine down in the kitchen by himself dusting for prints – no reason for her to hang over his shoulder. The two of them had not spoken much to each other in weeks, and if it had not been the hands of fate, they would not be at a crime scene together that particular night.

She took the stairs slowly, thinking of how the evening had started. A simple cup of coffee in the breakroom with the three guys while Grissom and Catherine were off talking about... whatever they find themselves discussing. How innocent it had all began. They talked and laughed and joked. Nick and Greg went out on one assignment while Catherine and Warrick went out on another. Sara had been forced to stay in the lab and catch up on some paperwork that had remained from another case, and then she would be on-call.

Well, by far and away, there had been nothing unusual happening that night, but soon a call came in, and Grissom told her to get her gear. His few words of "Get your kit and meet at the Tahoe. We've got a double to process." stunned her into almost shock that he had not decided to send her out alone.

The drive had been utterly silent, save the hum of the engine as they drove through the Las Vegas streets. Not even the radio had been turned on to fill the void. It was almost entirely too symbolic as to the quiet that had fallen over them in the months prior. Some strange sense of foreboding had passed over her on the way to the scene. Sara passed it off as just being near the man who set her nerves on edge.

Reaching the landing, that same sense of unease attacked her. Looking over the railing, she took one last look over the downstairs. The house had been cleared and secured by the police, the bodies were back at the lab, and they had been working for a couple of hours picking up evidence. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but something was nagging her in the back of her mind. Shaking her head, Sara made her way down the small hallway, glancing left and right into each room as she went.

Starting at the room furthest from the stairway, Sara began looking over the bed in the master bedroom for anything amiss, any sign of struggle, anything to suggest why there were two dead bodies in the living room. Kneeling down to look under the bed, she shined her flashlight underneath. Suddenly, Sara heard a small noise come from the closet at her back and swung her head around in time to catch a glimpse of a shadow moving.

It caught her off-guard, but Sara's instincts kicked in and she reached for her gun. She used her hand with the flashlight to steady her as she used her other hand to reach for her service weapon. Clicking the snap holding the weapon into the holster, Sara pulled it slowly out, but the position she was in gave her no advantage over an attacker if there was one.

Sara pushed herself into a kneeling position. Her body was twisted as she did so, trying to keep her eyes trained on the closet door. It was a precarious position, and helped her almost less than if she had stayed on her hands and knees. If she had stayed down, she may have had the opportunity to roll onto her back, but at this point she was stuck. The idea of calling out to someone to assist her rose in her throat, but if it was nothing, she knew she would be embarrassed and the brunt of many jokes. Absently, she remembered that no one else was at the house – the police were gone.

On the other hand, Sara felt she was strong enough to handle it. She had been trained in how to defend herself through many ways, and it was her confidence that pushed her to keep her mouth shut. Whatever this was would not scare her, and the simple thought that it could be nothing spurred her into a sense of calm.

Shaking her head, Sara turned back around towards the bed to push herself up into a standing position. Using the hand with her flashlight to steady her, she did just that, but kept her weapon at the ready. Unluckily for her, this was just what would cause everything to spiral out of control.

Without warning, the door swung open, and in mere milliseconds, she was at the mercy of a gunman pressed against her back, their weapon trained at her temple, and an arm clutched around her throat. It was entirely too surreal for Sara to comprehend. There was no time to scream about a suspect, and it would most likely make the situation worse. She wiggled against his hold but was rewarded with the barrel of the gun being forced harder into her head.

"Drop your gun, bitch," he demanded softly.

For a second, Sara's rational mind told her to respect the order, but then the irrational part took over and forced her to maintain control of her 9mm. She tightened her hold on the grip and clicked the safety off.

The gun was forced harder into her temple. "I told you to drop it. Don't go and make me kill you now." His voice was low and deadly.

"You're going to kill me either way, aren't you? What does me dropping the gun help?"

"I can kill you now... or you might get outta this alive. It's your choice, bitch. Drop the gun and walk out of here with me, ensurin' my safety... or die now, and I'll prob'ly take out a few of your friends on my way outta here."

Sara fought the urge to turn the gun on him. Any spontaneous movement on her part may just spur him into some deadly reaction. And, the thought of anyone else at the scene being at the hands of this killer scared her more than her own life hanging in the balance. Quite possibly if she walked him out of there as his hostage, no one else who happened to be at the scene would be hurt.

Sara could feel the sweat on the man's cheek as he pressed the side of his face into hers. He was on the edge, and there was no telling what exactly he was capable of. Well, that was not entirely true. He most likely was the man who had killed the couple downstairs, and now he was holding a gun on a CSI. He was quite capable of anything.

"Drop it!" he demanded harshly in an elevated whisper.

Clicking the safety back into place, Sara dropped the gun on the floor at her feet.

"That's a good girl," he cooed. "We're gonna to walk out of here together. Nothin' funny, or I swear that I'll shoot you dead where you stand. We're goin' down and out the back door. You understand?"

With a nod barely perceptible, Sara took a deep breath. It was not the first time she had been threatened, but it felt so much more strongly this time. Having a piece of pottery at your throat just somehow paled in comparison to having a gun at your temple. She almost laughed at how she could imagine one threat as being worse than another, but quite possibly a stab in the throat could be salvaged, whereas her brain matter being spread all over the walls could not be put back in her head.

He turned them around and started walking her through the doorway. Her feet were like lead as she shuffled them around to walk in front of him. Purposefully, Sara found herself trying to delay the walk, looking for any escape she could find. Her captor pulled his head back behind her, using her as his personal shield. Sara's eyes snapped up to catch movement at the end of the hallway at the top of the stairs she had climbed not ten minutes before.

Fifteen feet away, Grissom stood staring at her. His were eyes almost glistening from the sliver of light coming in the small window at the landing. Grissom, who almost never wore his service weapon, pulled it from the holster in seconds and trained it on the man holding Sara at gunpoint. There was no time or opportunity to call for help. He could put Sara in more danger if he made too much commotion, and he was not sure anyone would hear him.

Brass was gone to check out a lead, and the uniforms had left after the scene was deemed secure for a couple of hours. In all actuality, the scene was secure. The evidence had been locked up as they finished each room, they had been in the house for hours, and the victims' bodies were gone. They were realistically almost done, and one simple last-minute thought on Sara's part had put her in danger.

_Of all the people I could be at this crime scene with, why Grissom?_ Sara thought. _Catherine, oh, yeah, definitely... Warrick, almost positive... Nick, quite possibly... They'd all pull the trigger, but would he? At least it's not Greg. He doesn't have a gun, he's not trained in how to use one, and he's too new to this part of the job to probably do it... So, it could conceivably be worse._

They stared each other down for what seemed like hours, but only seconds had passed. How the madman allowed Grissom to have the time to pull his own gun was a mystery to Sara and Grissom both, but Sara resolved it in her mind quickly. The man wanted out alive, and at this point he was stuck in a hallway with two people. Gunfire would draw more people with more guns, and his chances of escaping her cut.

"Let her go," Grissom said through clenched teeth, "You don't want to kill anyone."

The man chuckled at the thought, his warm breath tickling the side of Sara's neck. "You think I don't want to kill someone? You don't know how many people I've killed. Killin' two cops won't make any difference to me."

_Oh, dear God... What if it was me on the other side of this equation? Could I pull the trigger? Even using the most vivid imagination possible, I can't fathom taking another human life. It's part of the job, though, right? I've accepted the job, I've accepted the risks, and it's not like it's cold blood. It's self-defense if someone else is threatened. Could I live with myself? Is one life worth another?_

"We're not cops. We're scientists. Just put the gun down—" Grissom started. His voice was calm, but hinted on an almost strained sense of despair.

"Shut the fuck up, man! You're carryin' a gun. You work with the cops. I don't really care what you call yourself. Put your gun down, or I kill her."

_Oh, man, he's going to choke. The man of steel – emotionless Grissom – is going to have a breakdown. He may pull the gun on someone, but he would most likely never use it. It's amazing he even wears the thing... and always at random intervals. When was the last time he was at the range? Oh, not a good thought. He could shoot me on accident. Fifteen feet... calculate the angles, the probability, the area available as a target... that's what you do._

"Shoot him, Grissom," Sara ordered lightly.

Grissom allowed his eyes to drift from the attacker to hers. It was almost too much to handle to see her in this situation. The last time they had been in this position, he had been unable to help her, and the fear he had seen in her eyes had scared him more than he was willing to admit. He had been an observer outside a room, only to watch her be threatened by someone in control, but very much out of control.

This time, he was the one that could make a difference. He was no longer a helpless observer – he was a participating party in the drama that was unfolding. Grissom was not willingly there, but participating nonetheless, and Sara's life was hanging in the balance with his decisions. And, it hurt him to almost see a sense of calm on her face. Sara's arms were hanging lifelessly at her sides, and he could see that her gun was missing.

Despite the air conditioning in the house, beads of sweat rolled from Grissom's forehead and into his eyes. He knew better than to move his hand to wipe them away, but they were beginning to blur his vision and sting his eyes. One hand on his weapon, and the other steadying the shaking that was beginning to develop from being so tense was making the situation worse. Blurry, stinging eyes and a shaking hand would not make the small target of the attacker's head easy to hit if he were forced to take the shot.

"God damn it! Grissom, shoot him!" Sara almost shouted.

Grissom stared at the man holding her. Adrenaline was shooting through his veins, willing him to make a decision. His mind shut itself down, and hit emotions took over. He was afraid to act – afraid to move. Anything he did could set into motion the very event he was trying to avoid: someone dying. The someone he feared more for was Sara, but she seemed to be oblivious to the situation.

Not oblivious, really. She was angry. That was one emotion he was able to readily acknowledge. There was no fear as he had seen in that home for the criminally insane. It was a calm angry, and that was something he was unaccustomed to seeing. Grissom could feel his heart clench as he felt her resignation bleed over into him.

"Drop your damn gun, dude, or I'll blow her fuckin' head off," he spat at Grissom while tightening his arm around Sara's neck. "Her death'll be on your conscience."

"Grissom, you've never listened to anything I've said before. Listen to me now," Sara said, deadly serious.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I'm gonna put a bullet in your head to shut you up," he responded never taking his eyes off of Grissom.

"Let her go," Grissom whispered.

"You're not the one makin' demands here, asshole. I am." He jabbed the gun into Sara's head. "Drop it, or the bitch gets it."

Grissom watched as Sara barely flinched as the barrel pressed into her temple. Anyone else seeing this may have believed this was more of an exercise in how to handle this situation than the actual event. Sara was barely responsive to what was happening. Her eyes were almost devoid of any emotion, and Grissom was unable to place the emotion he was seeing play across her eyes.

"Damn you. That's probably going to bruise," she accused of him.

The gunman laughed mirthlessly. "That's the least of your worries right now, isn't it?"

Grissom visibly relaxed his hold on his gun. He was losing his resolve in the situation, and it was obvious to the other two people in the hallway with him. Hoping she would understand that he was confused, he looked into Sara's eyes. Grissom relaxed his stance to further emphasize he was willing to relinquish his pseudo-control of the situation.

_Could I do it? Could I take a shot? He's a criminal, but that doesn't mean he's any less worthy of living. Sure, he's less worthy of living a free life, but I'm not the judge, jury, or executioner. I'm a Crime Scene Analyst, and I process evidence. I'm also a human being, and my life is in danger. If one of my friends was in my place right now, what would I do?_

"Grissom! Shoot him or we're both dead! Do it!" Sara looked into his eyes, willing him to pull the trigger.

"Shut up, bitch. You never shut your fucking mouth, do ya?" he directed towards Sara and refocused on Grissom. "You do it, man, and you'll be scrapin' up her brains from all over the place. Don't push me. I swear."

"No one else has to die," Grissom said, dredging up some sense of calm. "I'll put down my gun, and let you walk out of here. No one else has to be hurt. Just let her go."

"You're not letting him walk out of here!" Sara shouted, squinting her eyes at Grissom. "You're not going to let him hurt anyone else!"

Grissom trained his eyes back on Sara. It was now clearly evident that she was overly angry because it was seeping from every pore in her body, but the anger was not at her attacker. It was trained on him and his inability to respond the way she wanted to the circumstances they were in. Then, he saw that same emotion from earlier cross her face. He had seen it before, and now he recognized it. She was annoyed.

"Sara..." Grissom was unable to finish his thought because no words came to mind. His tone was calm and ever boss-like. His condescending manner he saved for reprimanding her for something she had done that he did not like.

"Yeah, _Sara_, even he's pissed at your damn mouth. So, shut the fuck up."

"Well, I'm on the verge of getting pissed myself, and you seriously don't want to see that. You picked the wrong person to fuck with, and it's definitely the wrong day. I haven't had near enough coffee to want to deal with this situation."

Why wasn't she afraid? Looking into Sara's eyes, Grissom was even more scared. All he could see was her temper and irritation at what was transpiring. He willed her to feel something, because seeing what he was seeing was making the situation worse. That cold look of determination on her face was disconcerting. Being calm, cool, and collected under pressure was one thing, but this was something else entirely.

"I could walk right past you, couldn't I, man?" he asked of Grissom. "You won't shoot me. Lucky me that she's the one that walked into the room. She wouldn't stop to take me down... but you... _you_ ain't got the balls." He peeked out a little more from behind Sara's head, almost tempting Grissom to take a shot.

Grissom retightened his grip on his gun. The movement was not lost on the gunman. He sneered and jerked his thumb to the hammer of his own 9mm and pulled it down. The situation just jumped into another category. Before that point, it was somewhat safer with more tension being needed to pull the trigger. Now, he was one flinch away from putting a bullet in Sara's head. One breath, one wrong move, and it was all over.

The only response from Sara was her briefly narrowed eyes as she heard the clicking of the hammer into place. Grissom wanted to shake some sense into her. He wanted her to cry, scream, plead, anything other than just stand there uncaring and seemingly unfazed.

"Maybe I was wrong about you, man," the assailant droned, "Or maybe you're just tryin' to be strong for the little lady. Either way, don't push me. You do anything, and you might as well be the one puttin' the bullet in her brain."

"Shoot me, asshole," Sara demanded. "Shoot me, and get it over with. For God's sake, just do something. I'm sick of standing here. My legs are getting tired just waiting."

"Not the most patient person in the world, are ya?" He chuckled. "Well, tell your man here to put the gun down, and we'll get the show on the road."

"He needs to shoot you. That's what he needs to do." Her eyes begged Grissom to take the shot.

She watched his fingers for any sign he might pull the trigger. It was possible that she would have enough time to get her head out of the way if she saw it was coming, but the muscles in Grissom's hands never tightened on the trigger. She knew there were a few ways out of the predicament, and one of them was in her death. At that point it felt inconsequential to the larger picture.

"Let her go," Grissom demanded quietly again. "Don't make this worse on yourself."

"Worse on me? I don't have anythin' to lose. I killed before, and no one got me. Even if you do take me in, what's gonna happen? They gonna sentence me for another murder? I don't think so, dude. One more notch on my gun won't make a bit of difference. It's your call, man. I told you already. You make me pull the trigger, her death is on your head."

Sara fought the involuntary shudder that continued to threaten her resolve. Each time the man spoke, his breath brushed against her flesh, almost searing it with his venomous words. His murdering hands were on her body. Again, she pushed those thoughts aside. There was no way she was going to allow this man to have control over her, or at least she would not allow him to see that he had that control.

"Damn it, just shoot me. You know you're going to anyway. Shoot me, and get it over with. Then Grissom can blow your head off and, it'll all be over," she huffed.

"And, you'll be dead." He laughed. "Means that much to you that I die for what I did?"

"What the hell do I care if you're dead or not? You're a useless piece of scum that's taken innocent lives. Your pathetic one means nothing to me. You can't hurt anyone else if you're dead."

"I'm going to kill you, you stupid bitch!" he shouted as he pressed the gun against her head again.

"I'll meet you in Hell, then, asshole!" Sara shouted back, her distaste for the situation reaching the breaking point.

Grissom flinched from the tension. Sara was pushing the man to the edge, and she was not in the least fazed by it. Her life was hanging by a mere thread, and she was taunting the man to kill her. How had things gotten to this point?

"You've got a death wish, don't you?" he asked of Sara as a smile spread across his face.

"I don't give a shit what you think I have. I'm bored. I'm bored with this, with you, my job, my life, and just everything for that matter. I've spent most of my life putting people like you away. If this is what it takes, then so be it. You think it doesn't matter to you that you don't get out of here alive? Well, welcome to my world. I don't give a shit. It'd almost be easier to be dead."

Her captive audience was just that... captivated, although both for different reasons. Grissom stood in shock that she was so on the edge that she'd lay down her life at a crime scene to carelessly. The gunman was in shock because he had only ever held someone at the edges of their life to find that they were utterly afraid.

"Here's the situation," Sara explained, completely devoid of emotion, "You either shoot me, and we're both dead, or you put down your gun and we both walk out of here. Either way it's fine with me. Dead or alive, neither of us matters, and I couldn't give a shit less." Sara turned her head sideways so the gun was in the middle of her forehead. "So, it's decision time."

"You really don't care, do you?" he asked incredulously, looking into her eyes.

"No." Sara chuckled. "No, I don't. I told you I was the wrong one to fuck with, but you didn't listen. You should've shot me earlier when you had the chance. Walking me out of there was the worst thing you could've done. The only reason I went along was so no one else got killed, but he's here in the hallway now."

Sara turned her head to look back at Grissom. She tired to tell him with her eyes that she was sorry, sorry for everything that had gone wrong in their lives, sorry for him being in this situation, just sorry. Through pleading with her eyes and in case he did not get the message, Sara mouthed _I'm sorry_. and averted her gaze.

Tired of the silence, Sara spoke again. "This is ridiculous. Seriously ridiculous. Here's the deal. I'm out of crayons and construction paper. So, I can't give you guys a written invitation. Consider this a verbal one." She sighed heavily. "Get on with it. Someone move. I'm sick of being stuck in limbo here."

Grissom spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever, and his voice was horribly strained and hoarse. "I'm going to put my gun down. You let her go and walk away. You can just walk out of here. I'll let you walk right out the door."

"Like I believe you, asshole," the gunman replied crossly to Grissom. He put his lips closer to Sara's ear and whispered, "Looks like you've got an admirer. He doesn't want to see you die... but it makes me wonder if he's willin' to do anythin' 'bout it."

Sara snickered at that, and spoke loudly enough for Grissom to hear her. "Doubtful. He cares less about me than he does about the fact that he's not getting to process his crime scene right now. That or avoiding the paperwork with a dead CSI on his hands, and then having to hire another one. Letting you go has to be easier on the penmanship than trying to explain how there are two dead people up here."

She took a moment to eye Grissom before continuing. "He might be telling the truth, but it won't work out that way. I won't let it. I won't let you leave this house to kill anyone else. You're either leaving in handcuffs or a body bag."

"Sara, you need to calm down," Grissom replied evenly. His arms were getting tired holding the gun in his outstretched arms for so long, and he was fighting the strain. The muscles in his arms were on the verge of cramping. He knew he needed to keep himself from showing the stress and pressure.

"I am calm, damn you. You should be the one negotiating, not me. You should be trying to stop him. He's not leaving, and you're not going to let him." She caressed his eyes with her own. "Before this is over, he's going to shoot me, and I need you to assure me that you're going to shoot him. Accept it. Don't let this be in vain."

"Sara... no..." Grissom shook his head from side to side almost imperceptibly, but Sara saw the defiance in his eyes. He swallowed hard trying to relieve the tightness in his throat.

"It's your turn to be calm, Grissom. Take a deep breath and relax. He's not walking out of here on his own, and it's your job to make sure of that."

"Enough chit chat, both of you need to shut up," he ordered.

Grissom continued to stare down the sight of his own gun at the man's head, but his eyes were still stinging from the sweat that was running into his eyes. Sara was not helping his resolve to get out of the situation when she started talking about accepting what was going to happen. She was talking like she was willing to sacrifice herself for that piece of shit that was holding her.

His hands began shaking again. He knew what he had to do, but there was no amount of resolve he could find to do it. Sara was pushing him to shoot the guy, and that in itself angered him. She had taken control of the situation and cared less what happened to herself. She wanted him to take a life when there was clearly another way out of it. They just had to let the guy walk out of the house.

In all his years as a CSI, he had never wanted to willingly let someone go that had committed a murder, and he knew if there was a time he had to take a life, he would. However much he had told himself that, it still did not feel right when facing the situation. He was torn in the middle as to which way to turn. His indecision was putting them more in jeopardy, but Sara had no right to take it upon herself to decide that someone was going to die – most of all her. She was offering her life so that Grissom could shoot a murderer.

In his mind, Sara was being entirely too selfish. She would not be the one that would have to live with the consequences of her actions. Grissom was unsure how Sara had gotten taken hostage, and he did not blame her for it. However, the thing he did blame her for was antagonizing the man who was not trying to find a peaceful way out of their circumstances.

The tension in the small hallway was wearing on Grissom more and more with each passing second as the sweat on the palms of his hands began to make his grip on his own gun a little more unsteady. He fidgeted with his fingers to keep a definite hold on it, but the ability to take a clean shot was becoming more and more slim. Putting strain on the trigger when taking the shot coupled with the sweat was most likely going to change the trajectory of the bullet with it left the chamber. One fraction of an inch would be multiplied through the fifteen feet that separated him, and Sara's life hung in the balance of that.

Grissom looked at the hammer of the gun that was trained on Sara's temple. Next, he looked at the man's finger resting on the trigger. After that, he looked at the muscles in the man's hand holding the weapon. His tension was mirrored in Grissom. Calculating the possibility that he would be able to pull off a shot before the guy did, the weapon in the attacker's hand would still fire, and Sara would be dead.

Had the hammer not been pulled back, the spasm and tensing of his hand in death may not have had the pressure to pull the trigger. At the very least, it may have given her enough time to pull her head away from the barrel. That was moot now. Every way out of this Grissom saw Sara dying, and he hated her for it.

He blamed Sara for baiting the man into a state of unease and agitated reaction. He blamed himself for not taking a shot sooner. He blamed the police for not securing the scene better. He blamed the homeowners for dying. He blamed the man for killing those two people only two hours before their shift was set to end. The more blame he placed, the more sweat ran into his eyes, and the more loose the grip on his gun became.

Tightening the hold on his weapon to offset the slipping that was occurring, Grissom found himself drawn back in time to when Sara had told him about getting a shooter's DNA from the sweat on the pistol grip. It caused him to think of how she never ceased to amaze him with the information she stored away in her mind and how dedicated she had always been. Momentarily, Grissom realized he had already just referred to her in the past tense, and he willed himself not to think of her in those terms.

Sara had watched Grissom's eyes surveying the situation and knew he was calculating the odds. Although he was composed, she saw the hesitancy in his eyes and his movements. She knew he would not take the shot. It was written all over his face. He could not bring himself to take the shot unless she were dead. It would be up to her to make Grissom pull the trigger on the man.

He would feel pain, remorse, and most likely guilt, but if it was at her own hand, he may be able to get over it sooner. Grissom would likely feel responsible no matter what happened, but there was no use in thinking about that now. She had made her bed, and she was willing to lie in it. Sara concentrated on his face and his eyes trying to discern if he would be able to actually pull the trigger after she was dead – if she died. She was going to fight against it, but it was most likely inevitable.

Grissom looked back at Sara just as hard as she was looking at him. The icy stare was accurately relaying the message that he was upset about what was happening. She almost laughed when she realized that even with her almost imminent death hanging over their heads, Grissom was still upset at her about something. She guessed that it was only fitting to go out the way she had spent the better part of her adult life.

His eyes softened after a moment trying to apologize for everything that had happened between them over the years. She understood the message loud and clear, blinking at him. The looked was reciprocated on her face. She gave him a small smile and looked away before the tears could spring into her eyes. Grissom wanted to smile back, but he knew that the murderer holding Sara would not like that, or more appropriately, he would question it.

She looked back up after a few seconds into Grissom's eyes. They had reached their stalemate after all those years. Neither had won and neither had lost. All those years of unresolved tension between them boiled down to a shared look of peace. It was fitting that after all that time of wordless communication and small gestures that the last thing they might share was their eye contact.

Their eyes meeting and the meaning behind it may have only lasted thirty seconds, but it was the most meaningful experience they had had in years. Sara knew Grissom knew how to sign, and she should have remembered that he knew how to read lips. After hearing that he had surgery to correct his hearing, Sara had put the pieces together at the time about how he had had to adapt his life to the work, but at that moment in time she forgot it all.

She dropped her head slightly as she formulated the plan in her head. Squinting her eyes and dropping her head slightly, Sara mouthed the words _Good-bye. I love you_ and took a deep breath. Grissom watched her face, unbelieving what he was seeing. It went beyond a simple 'possible scenario' into the realm of 'absolute certainty.' In that moment Grissom realized that Sara believed it would be her last, and she was preparing for the end. His breath hitched in this throat.

Standing silently with his gun trained on Sara's captor's head, Grissom could do nothing more than observe what was about to happen. He felt as helpless as if he was standing outside of that locked room again. Only a few feet away from her and still unable to help her in the least. She took his indecision and was using it against him, pushing his hand to make the move. The only problem is that Grissom would have to wait until he had a clear shot after she was through.

Sara twisted her head and bent it downward into the bend of the man's elbow at her throat. At the same moment in time she thrust her right arm upward to push the man's hand holding the gun away from her temple. The gun discharged not more than in inch over the top of her head and the round flew out and lodged itself in the wall. The loud noise startling her briefly, catching her unaware of how much it hurt to have a gun set off that close to her head.

Apparently the sound has also caught the man off-guard as well and he briefly released the hold of her neck. Sara took that moment to grab his hand and twist. After wiggling from his grasp, and still holding onto the hand with the gun, Sara took that hand and twisted it around with herself behind his back and pulled it up behind him to his head. She pushed so hard that the action caused his muscles to relax and the gun fell from his grasp, falling to the floor with a clatter.

Sara pushed him headfirst into the wall and watched as he skittered to the floor in a heap. He instinctively reached out for the weapon lying only a few inches from his grasp, but Sara was faster and more coherent. Grabbing the weapon quickly, she stood up over him with her foot in the middle of his back and the gun trained on the back of his head. Sara moved sideways in the hallway so she was no longer against the wall, positioning herself with her back to Grissom.

The heat of the moment caught up with her as the pain from the gunpowder burned into the side of her face. It was then that the pain in her ear became more pronounced and the ringing became more incessant. Sara blinked hard a few times trying to put the pain in the back of her mind.

In all of the excitement that had only taken about thirty seconds for it to transpire, Grissom had stood those few feet away in his own probable danger. He had been waiting at the ready to shoot, but he may have frozen with fear at the moment he had needed to act, but his feet had stayed glued to the spot. Never once did it occur to him that in her struggle that he could have been shot as well.

"Sara? Are you alright?" Grissom asked. It never struck to him that she might not be able to hear him. He rushed up behind her and reached out to grab her shoulder to get her attention. When he got that close, he was able to see what the darkness had obscured. There was gun powder burned into the flesh on the side of her face.

She turned her eyes, but not her head or her body towards him. Shaking her head slightly trying again to dislodge the pain, she grimaced. Both hands on the gun, Sara held it unwaveringly in the direction of the man's head. After seeing that Grissom was okay, Sara refocused her eyes back on the man lying on the floor.

Grissom tried again. "Sara! Are you alright?"

"Call Brass and the EMTs," was all she said.

"I asked if you were alright," Grissom said authoritatively.

"God damn it, no!" she shouted back. "I've been held hostage, I've got gunpowder on the side of my head, and my ear hurts like hell. Now, make the call."

He stood still for a second too long. Never removing her eyes from the suspect, Sara grabbed her cell phone from her belt and started making the call herself. Still holding the weapon with her right hand, Sara used her left hand to hit the number nine on her phone pad to speed-dial Brass. She relayed the information to him as quickly and concisely as she could.

"Sara, I need the weapon to put it into evidence. Hand it to me." His voice was soothing, like trying to talk her back from a ledge before she would jump to her death. Her cold, calculating eyes of earlier still haunted him.

"No," she responded defiantly, shaking her head a few times to punctuate her answer.

"There may be prints on there, and we need to enter it into evidence. I've got my weapon. He's not getting away." He held out his gloved left hand to her.

"Screw you. I'm not handing it over until I see a police officer. You won't shoot him if we need to, but I sure as hell will," she barked curtly at him.

"You got your hands full with her," the man grumbled to Grissom from the floor.

"He's been told that before," Sara retorted. "And, I don't remember telling you that you could speak, asshole. So, now, it's your turn to shut the fuck up." Sara pushed her booted foot slightly harder into the middle of his back to emphasize her point.

"Sara," Grissom said slowly, "You could have been shot. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't. Get over it," she replied tersely. "Could you make my life a little easier and move to my left side if you want to have a conversation? I can't hear shit out of my right ear."

Grissom made no indication that he was going to move. It was then that Sara realized that his hand was still resting on her shoulder. Part of her wanted to revel in the touch, but another part of her was still made that he had held back and forced her to push the situation like that. She shrugged off his hand as rudely as she could, but never looked back at him. Grissom took that as a sign, and moved over to her left side, but stayed slightly behind her and leaned supportively on the wall.

"Sara, seriously, what were you thinking? That whole event scared me."

"Sorry to rain on your parade, Grissom. I don't recall getting the memo about how the world revolves around you on your schedule. I'll make sure to take your feelings into account the next time I'm held hostage."

"Where's your gun, Sara?" Grissom asked of her, ignoring the hostility in her voice. She was angry and trying to start a fight to work off the rest of her adrenaline.

"It's in the master bedroom on the floor. I was forced to drop it there when this asshat jumped out of the closet and held me at the business end of his gun." Sara jerked her head impatiently back towards Grissom. "Where in the hell is the PD? I want to go home."

"You can't go home until after you've filled out the paperwork and have been interviewed by the Police," Grissom explained condescendingly.

"For God's sake, Grissom, I realize that. I just want it over with. The sooner they get here, the sooner he's in custody, the sooner I can start on that. I know my damn job." She shook her head and turned it back to the man being held still with the heel of her boot. "After all these years, you may not respect me personally, but at least professionally I thought you could... But, I've never lived up to any of your expectations, have I?"

"Sara, now is not the time or the place. You're emotional."

"If not now, when? There's never a right time or a place with you. Just forget it. I've never been good enough for anything, even a conversation. It's okay. I don't blame you for me putting my career and life on hold to come bail you out five and a half years ago. I don't blame you for my shitty life. I did that all on my own. I made my choices. The only thing I blame you for is being you, but I blame myself more for being so damn accepting of that."

"You've got a lot of hate in you," the man mumbled into the floor.

"Don't lie there and try to psychoanalyze me. You don't know me. I told you that you picked the wrong person to fuck with, and I meant it. Had anyone else walked in there you'd probably be sitting on your sofa watching TV right now, but you had to go and hold me hostage. Bad day for you, pal." Sara chuckled evilly.

"You're going to get yourself killed one day," he grunted.

"I so didn't ask you," she bitterly replied.

The silence of the night was shattered with the shrill wail of police sirens drawing closer to the house. Even through the loud ringing in her right ear, Sara could hear them, and she drew in a ragged breath knowing it was almost over. The house became lit up with the flashing blue and red of the police cruisers as they stopped out front and stormed into the house.

Brass was the first up the stairs, taking them two at a time to reach the landing first. He looked from Grissom, slumped against one wall, to Sara, standing with her foot on the man on the floor, gun at the ready in her hands. He trained his weapon on the suspect, securing him, and expected Sara to draw back.

He scrutinized her deeply. Speaking to her in a low voice, trying to soothe her, Brass warned her, "Sara, you can back off now, we're here."

Not one muscle in Sara's body relaxed. She knew they were there, but she was waiting on the order to back off. Afraid to move for fear the suspect would take advantage of it, she kept her attention on him. Finally Brass moved up next to her and grasped her shoulder. Thinking it might be Grissom again, she was getting herself ready for another round of fighting with him.

Seeing it was Brass, she removed her foot and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at her. The silent question hung in the balance between them. His intent was to find out if she was okay or if she had fallen prey to some madness or mental instability. He had spoken to her on the phone not more than ten minutes before, but she seemed more determined in person.

"Sorry, Jim. The gun discharged inches from my ear, and I can't hear. He's all yours. I'll be happy if I never see him again," she explained, stepping back as far as she could to give the police availability to the attacker.

Holding the gun, Sara relaxed her posture and bent her elbows and pulled the gun towards her own head to allow the officers to approach the man on the floor. Leaving it in her right hand, she flicked the safety to the on position. Leaving just her finger in the trigger guard, Sara allowed the weight of the weapon to flip it over in her hand as she lifted it over her shoulder for someone to take it from her. Grissom complied and slipped it into an evidence bag he had retrieved from his kit at the top of the stairs.

"Good to have you back with the living, Sara," he said loud enough for her to hear him before waving in the other officers to take the man into custody.

"Get that crazy bitch away from me," the man on the floor spouted to them as the uniformed officers closed in on him with handcuffs and dragged him to a standing position. "She's fuckin' nuts. Suicidal. How do you people work with her?"

After he was escorted down the stairs and around to the front door, Brass, looking from one CSI to the other, asked, "What'd be mean about that? Something I need to know?"

"He's pissed because I overpowered him and took away his gun before he could escape," Sara defended herself.

Brass looked pointedly at Grissom, who only shrugged his response. Seeing that the CSI supervisor was not going to elaborate on his own, he asked, "You have anything to add to that, Gil?"

"Not in the least, Jim. He held her hostage. We had a stand-off for a while, but I was unwilling to take a shot. Sara overpowered the guy and took him down. I don't think he ever saw it coming."

Sara turned to glare at Grissom. Brass was amused, a little smirk playing on his face. "No one knows Sara like we do. Looks can be deceiving. Quite a little hellcat in that Sara suit," he jibed at her.

Sara then turned to glare at him. "If you two are through, I'm going to find an EMT to get my head checked out." She gave them both another glare for good measure. "Either of you says anything about that, and I swear you'll both get a lesson in weaponless defense that you won't soon forget."

"Good to see you didn't lose your sense of humor," Brass joked as she walked down the stairs. Once she was out of what he felt was earshot, he asked Grissom, "Gil, is that what really happened?" The concern was etched all over his face.

"Honestly, Jim, yes and no," Grissom replied sadly. "Her life was in danger, and she reacted to it. I wasn't willing to take a shot, and Sara did what she thought she had to do to get us out of the situation." He paused for a moment reflecting. "Sara said something about the guy being in the closet when she went to search the bedroom."

"So, she risked both of your lives in that situation?"

"No. The officer that didn't secure the scene properly did that for us. Her life was being held at the end of a gun barrel. She fought to get out of it."

Brass ignored the first part of what Grissom said. "If you're covering for her, that won't help her in the least. She can be reckless with herself sometimes, and that'll only get her killed. She might need to talk to someone about it."

"I'll talk to her about it, but... I think she came to terms with the risks of the job at that moment." Grissom peeled himself from the wall he was leaning against. "I want the officer that secured the scene reprimanded. He didn't clear it properly."

"You sent him away," Brass accused of him.

"After we were told the scene was clear, yes. He was negligent in clearing it. We have our job to do, and the police have theirs. We were assured it was clear, and we relied on his judgment. He could've been the one to get a CSI killed tonight." Grissom fixed Brass with a deadly stare.

"He could've been here to help you. It's not his fault you sent him away!"

"It wouldn't have stopped that killer from threatening anyone who walked into that room, Brass, and you know it! Our lives were put in danger. Don't you dare accuse CSI of being at fault here." Grissom's eyes narrowed into slits as he eyed the police captain.

* * *

"Sara, open the door," Grissom called out to her after spending ten minutes banging, with no answer to speak of. Luckily it was the middle of the day and most of her neighbors would be at work, but at the very least most likely not asleep to be perturbed at the noise.

"Damn, Grissom," she intoned angrily. Wearing a bathrobe, Sara swung the door open to face him angrily, her wet hair hanging limp on her head. "Can't a person take a shower in peace anymore?"

He walked in without being invited. Plopping himself on her couch, he stared at the coffee table. Sara opened her mouth in shock and shook her head. The ringing in her ear was tolerable, but still had not stopped, and it had been a couple of hours. The slamming of the door was slightly muted by it, to which Sara was rather unhappy. She desperately wanted to hear the sounds of her fury.

Grissom's appearance at her apartment, although partially expected, was still annoying. He just walked in unannounced and unwelcomed and expected for her to be hospitable. She was in no mood for guests after what had transpired at the end of the shift, and her inability to hear properly was going to complicate matters.

"I'm not in the mood to entertain people, Grissom. So, you're going to have to excuse me while I don't even play with a pretense that I care." She seated herself in her chair.

"Sara, do you even care that you could've died this morning?"

"We all live with couldas, wouldas, and shouldas," she replied evenly.

"You don't care do you?" he asked, confused and disbelieving. "Did you want to die?"

"Sure, I care in some odd sense of the word. I didn't die, Grissom. Stop worrying yourself over it. It's not your fault, so don't go and get all worked up over it. I've come to terms with my own mortality. There's a difference between wanting it and being ready for it," Sara responded indifferently. "I didn't walk into the bedroom with the hope that I'd get attacked. I didn't ask him to do it. You're acting like I purposefully left home last night with this inked into my agenda. It happened. It's over. Move on."

"You're acting like this is nothing. You tried to coax him into pulling the trigger. Do you realize how close you were to dying?" Grissom's voice rose from the sheer emotion.

"You keep reminding me of that fact, thank you." Sara leaned forward in the chair. "You weren't going to pull the trigger and kill him, and he wasn't going to let me out of there alive. I had to do something. No matter how I played it out in my head, I felt I was dead. I at least wanted him to pay for what he had done. If I was going to die, I wanted to die with a purpose."

"How do you know if I'd have shot him after he...?" Grissom trailed off, unable to say it again.

"I don't, but at least I would've died trying." She reached out and placed her hand on his knee, her voice as calming and reassuring as she could make it. "I'm not suicidal. I'm a realist. The chance of us both getting out of there alive was slim, and I accepted that. You weren't willing to accept that."

"I was willing to let him leave the scene if it meat your safety. Sara, I would have traded places with you if I could have," he spoke softly.

"I wouldn't have allowed you to trade places with me. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, most of all you. I did what I felt was necessary at the time to safeguard you. It may not have been ethical or moral to some people's standards, but it was what I did. I wasn't willing to allow him to walk out of there alive and on his own. I live by my principles, and I will die for them as well."

"But..." Grissom found he was at a loss for words.

The simple fact that Sara felt her life was inadequate was painful. He sensed that she had become more adjusted, no matter how unhappy she had been in the previous few years. Her flippant attitude strongly contrasted with her belief system. She had been willing and ready to lay down her life in an attempt to save Grissom and get that creep off the street.

But, he was floored by the fact that if the situation had progressed differently, he would have lost her. To lose her would be to lose himself. Seeing her die in front of him, he felt assured that he would have been incapable of action and died himself at the hands of that madman.

"We put our lives on the line every day. It's a hazard of the job. I've accepted it, and I go to work each day with that knowledge. Not a wish, but the knowledge. So, when my time is up, it's up." Her words were soft and soothing, trying to calm Grissom's nerves in the hopes of making him understand.

"You think I don't know we work in these conditions?" He finally looked up and met her eyes. "That's not what this is all about, though. Sara, you meant what you said to him. You meant it when you said that you were bored, that you didn't give a shit about your life, and that you felt that you didn't matter. Sara, you practically begged him to shoot you."

"Actually, I demanded that he shoot me," she replied indignantly. "Look, if you're so concerned, put it in your report and get me fired. I don't care. You're right that I'm not happy with my life. I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're worried about. If that's what I wanted, I wouldn't go to work waiting on the inevitable. I'd take care of it myself. Just because I don't like where my life is at the moment doesn't mean I'm going to take it purposefully. I'm not going to put anyone else at work in danger."

She chuckled. "Actually, with someone who's ready for death, you'd think people would want to work with them because they'd be the crazy one who would risk their life in the line of duty to save someone."

"It's not our job to put our lives on the line, Sara," Grissom reprimanded her.

"You're missing the humor." Sara rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat.

Grissom furrowed his eyebrows. "There is no humor in this. I think you need to talk to a counselor about this."

Sara scoffed at that remark. "I'm not going to go talk to someone and tell them all about how I accept the hazards of my job. That's crazy. They'd have me committed on that premise alone."

"It's your life that you need to talk to them about... that you don't feel satisfied with the way things are in your life and then work on changing it."

"You don't get it. I can't change my life. I've tried. The one thing that would make me happy isn't for me to decide," she responded cryptically.

Grissom looked deeply into her eyes for a few poignant moments. "The part that bothered me the most was when you told me good-bye."

Sara's expression turned to one of shock as she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "I—I..."

"I'd like to think that I'd react the same no matter who had been at his mercy, but if he'd have killed you, he'd have killed me, because I couldn't move," Grissom said simply.

"I didn't mean for you to see that. I shouldn't have..." Sara whispered so quiet that her own ears did not hear it. "If I thought for one second that I wasn't going to die, I would have kept that to myself. I went too far... I'm sorry... I would never have wanted my words to..."

"Sara, it wasn't your words so specifically that stopped me from being able to move, but more so the fact that it was you in his murdering hands. I felt so helpless, and I didn't know how to help you. I was afraid of doing the wrong thing and getting you killed... and then you just seemingly gave up."

"I can appreciate that, Grissom, but I just don't know what to tell you. I know it's not you to want to shoot someone, but almost anyone else would've taken the bastard out when they had a gun to my head. It was eating me up alive to see you standing there indecisive. I can't tell you how angry I was that you wouldn't just shoot him."

She leaned back forward again, taking his hands that were resting on his legs into her hands. "I know you don't want to take a life, and I don't want to either, but I swear to you, that if your life was ever in danger, I would _not_ hesitate in the least to ever pull the trigger. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I know you did what you felt was right, but I just want you to know how strongly I feel."

Grissom stared at their intertwined hands. "You were willing to walk out of that house with him to protect me, even if he was most likely going to kill you once he got outside, weren't you?"

"Yes," Sara stated firmly.

"I've made so many mistakes in my life." He looked up into her eyes and wrapped his hands around hers. "I don't deserve for you to ever sacrifice yourself for me."

"Everyone makes mistakes. It's what you make out of them that makes all the difference." Sara smiled warmly at him.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked sadly.

Sara sighed lightly. "There's nothing to forgive you for. We are who we are because of where we've been. I wouldn't change it for the world."

A monumental shift had just occurred in their sordid relationship. They both felt it as the tide shifted. Grissom decided that he needed to stop running. He was distraught that it took him to almost lose her in the most permanent sense ever for him to come to his senses and admit it to her. However hesitant that she was to break the unspoken openness and silent bond that they had just formed, Sara knew she had to ask. She had to make him understand that she was not going to press him into anything.

"Grissom, about what I said... I know this is not typical of me, but can we just forget that I said it? It's the over-talking thing again. It was over the line, and I seriously apologize for saying it." She could not find it in herself to tell him that she took it back or that she did not mean it.

He searched her eyes. "Do you regret saying it?"

Sara took a steadying breath. "The line between 'regret' and 'wish I hadn't' is so fine it's almost indistinguishable."

"Does that mean that you didn't mean it?"

"If I answer that, I know what will happen at work tomorrow night. And, I also know what I'll live through for the next few months. We were starting to talk to each other again almost civilly. Please, just... just forget it. I honestly don't want to make things worse between us than they already are," she begged him.

"I can't lose you, Sara." He squeezed her hands. "I'm sorry it took me to this point for me to stop and take stock of what I have in my life and what I can't live without. I want to make things right between us... I want to make things better. I've... I've been a fool for so long to have denied it. I've hurt you so many times. I was afraid, and I still am, but I'm more afraid of what I'll lose if you're no longer in my life." He took a deep breath when was finished.

Sara sat in utter shock, with her mouth hanging slightly open. "I need to make sure you understand a few things first." She paused for Grissom to nod. "I didn't say what I said to make you feel guilty. I didn't say everything I said to him as some guilt trip either. I'm not so unhappy with my life that I'm semi-suicidal over not having you there. Basically, I want you to be serious about it and not just saying it because you think it'd be good for my psyche and you feel sorry for whatever happened in our past."

"I'm very serious about what I said. I denied you having an integral part of my life for some very stupid reasons that I promised myself were valid at the time, but I was only afraid. It's complicated, actually." Grissom licked his lips nervously and averted his eyes to scan the room. "I was afraid that if you got to know the real me that you wouldn't like me anymore, and as long as you were near me, I was okay. When we were together, I felt alive, and when we were apart, I felt like a piece of me was missing. The paradox was that the closer we got, the more I had to push you away to keep you near me. I was afraid to lose you as a friend, and so I had to make you an enemy."

"I think I understand," Sara said comfortingly and caught his eyes when he looked back at her. "Tell you what: If we decide that a few months down the road we're just not compatible, and we hate each other, I'm still willing to stick around and be your friend. Nothing else has driven me away. It can't seriously get any worse than it has been for the past five years, can it?" She grinned at him.

Grissom looked horror-struck for a moment. "Um... I busted in here without... uh, actually asking how you were doing. I was so preoccupied with other things that..."

Sara chuckled at him. "I'm fine. I still have a ringing in my ear, but it's tolerable. They're not sure when it'll stop. I'm slowly regaining some sound in it. I'm sure I'll have some permanent hearing loss, but there's no way to know the extent of it until the ringing stops, and I'll go in for some tests. Oh, and I have to put lotion on the stupid powder burn."

"Did they give you any probabilities about the hearing loss? Any ways to lessen it?"

"Nothing I can do to lessen it. It's just a wait and see game right now. Most likely because of the proximity of the weapon at the time of discharge, I'll have about a twenty-five percent decrease in my hearing. Also, I'll either lose or have a strange sensitivity to high-pitched noises."

"Could it get progressively worse over time?"

"The doc said that there's a good chance that it can, but slowly. I may have periods of time that I'll lose all sound in that ear, or one day I may just wake up and not have any use of it again. Or, I may never have another problem again." She shrugged one shoulder. "I'll just play it by ear... no pun intended. I'll accept whatever happens. I'm not so worried about it. Life will go on."

"I can teach you sign language if you'd like," he offered.

"I hate to burst your bubble, teach, but I took a few classes after that case we had with that deaf kid that got killed. I go back and take a couple refresher courses every year just to make sure I'm not slipping. I'm not anywhere near fluent, but I think I could get by."

"You never cease to amaze me."

Grinning widely, she asked, "You could teach me all the curse words if you want. Everyone refused to teach me those. I swear, I thought that everyone always learned those first in any foreign language, I assumed that sign language would be the same."

Grissom laughed at her. He took one hand away from hers and reached up to touch her face, careful to make sure it was the side not burnt by the gun powder. He leaned closer to her, also pulling her closer to him at the same time. Sara leaned into his embrace. Just as their lips touched, a loud knock resounded through her apartment.

Sara sighed and hung her head. "We could pretend we didn't hear that," she joked.

"You might get away with that, but I had surgery. I've got no excuse." He winked at her.

"Okay. Well, hold that thought, and I'll get rid of whoever is here to annoy me."

Sara crossed the room quickly. It was as she reached the door that she realized she was still wearing only her robe. She began to feel just a little self-conscious. She glanced back at Grissom to see him watching her. In all her haste to just get their conversation over with, she had just neglected to remember to put on appropriate clothing, and she hoped she had not disgraced herself with some gesture and showing pieces of her anatomy while she had been talking. Realizing Grissom most likely would have blushed, she may be safe for the moment. Another knock from behind her brought Sara back to reality.

She opened the door wide to see a dumbfounded Greg standing in front of her. "Hi, Greg. To what do I owe the honor of having you at me apartment?" She grinned at him.

"Wanted to make sure that you were okay and didn't need anything," He gave her a large smile and held up a small bag. "I brought some Blue Hawaiian to make you feel better."

"Oh, in that case, c'mon in." She waved her hand towards the interior of the apartment in a welcoming gesture. He hesitated a second, and she asked, "Something wrong?"

"Well, the rest of the gang is downstairs. They wanted to make sure you were up to seeing anyone before they mobbed you." He gave an exaggerated shrug. "I drew the short straw and got to be the guinea pig."

"You go and get them. I'll go put on something more presentable if there's going to be a party in my apartment." She reached out and grabbed the bag of coffee from his hand. "I'm keeping this as collateral in case you don't come back up."

Sara watched as Greg bounded down the hall towards the elevator. She closed the door and turned back around to see that Grissom was standing a few feet behind her. She reached out to touch his chest just to make sure he was real. He covered her hands with his and stared deeply into her eyes.

"I'll, uh, go and let you be alone with the team. I'll go down the stairs so you won't have to explain anything to them."

"What's there to explain? My boss came over to make sure I was okay after that horrific ordeal that he and I were involved in earlier this morning. You don't have to go... I don't want you to go, but I understand if you want to go."

"I don't want to go either. I just wanted you to have the option," he admitted, moving the few inches between them to bring his lips to hers in the promise of a kiss.

It deepened quickly as their passions of the years fueled the fire that had long remained between them, however much it had been doused with water. Sara slipped her arms up and encircled Grissom's neck while he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. Mindful of the tender flesh on the right side of her face, Grissom kept his movements gentle, even as the kiss became more passionate. It was not until they heard another knock at the door behind them that they came up for air.

"Can you get that while I go and put some clothes on?" she whispered, "I don't think I could entertain anyone else in what I'm wearing. And, the longer I wait to change, the harder that will be to explain why I was entertaining you in it." A small blush rose on her cheeks, and Grissom nodded his answer.

After she slipped into her bedroom and was lost behind the closed door, Grissom opened the door to be faced with a dumbfounded group. The group, consisting of Greg, Nick, Warrick, Catherine, Brass, Bobby, and David, gave him a confused stare. The only stare that stood out as overly unusual was the one from Greg because he knew what Sara was wearing when he had been up there just a few minutes before.

"Greg, get your eyebrows out of your hairline. I found her like that when I came over to make sure that she was okay. She was about to kick me out when you came over. So, I suppose I have you to think for allowing me the ability to stay and make sure she really is okay."

"You need to bring good coffee with you," Greg joked nervously with his boss.

Grissom held up the small bag he had snagged out of Sara's hands when she had placed them on his chest. "I've got control of the coffee. So, you had all better be nice to me. Come in. She'll be out in a minute."

"How are you doing, Grissom?" David asked hesitantly, forming the question that was in everyone's minds.

"I'm fine. Peculiar thing is that I wasn't the one with a gun pressed into my temple, and I think I took it far worse than Sara did." He dropped the bag of coffee on the counter. "Greg, make the coffee. You're the coffee guru, and I'm lost in Sara's kitchen."

Sara emerged from her bedroom seconds later as Greg was opening and closing every cupboard door that she had. Aghast, Sara almost shouted at him. "Greg, what in the world are you doing?"

"Coffee filters," was all he offered in explanation, a shrug of his shoulders to emphasize his clueless search.

"Box by the coffee pot." Sara pointed to the small box of coffee filters sitting directly beside the coffee pot. He had the good sense to look sheepish and shrugged at her again.

Everyone made their rounds and hugged Sara whether they thought she wanted it or not. They also shared their well wishes and gratefulness that she was still among the living. She explained what the doctors told her about her hearing, and went into a little of the experience at the house. She hit the highlights, glazed over the parts where she begged the guy to shoot her and told him how much her life sucked, and completely skipped the I love you part. They all had a good laugh when Sara told them of Brass's horrified and worried face when he had arrived at the scene, and she had not responded because she was unable to hear him.

After two hours of chit chat, the group began to break up. Most of them had brought their own cars, but had planned to arrive at her place on their way into the lab for work that evening. Sara received another round of hugs and words of encouragement as they made their exits. Grissom was the next to last to leave. He hugged Sara and whispered in her ear to call him if she needed anything.

Catherine was the unlikely suspect to stay behind. She waited until Grissom was outside the closed door to attack the brunette with her own interrogation. "You guys are on speaking terms again?"

"You could say that. Nothing can bring two people closer together than living through a hostage situation. Give it a few months, and he'll forget how close I was to death and ignore me again." Sara gave a mirthless chuckle and refilled Catherine's coffee cup.

"Thanks." She took a sip of the hot beverage before continuing. "Look, I know we've had a strained relationship since you arrived here, and I'm not someone you'd consider close, but I'm really glad you're okay. Not just because we'd take a hit on the team, but because you're really a good person, and I'd hate to see you gone like that."

Sara blushed slightly from the unexpected compliment. "Thank you, Cath. I appreciate that. I wish things had been easier between us, but I guess two strong-willed women are bound to butt heads from time to time. Doesn't mean we can't be friends, though."

"My thoughts exactly." Catherine sipped some more of her coffee. "Maybe we could go out to eat or something sometime. Possibly, we could get to know each other better," she offered.

"I think I'd like that... a lot," Sara replied seriously. She found it odd how coming face to face with her own mortality made her realize how she was wrong about her life. It really was not as empty as she previously thought it had been. She had a wonderful support network in her surrogate family at the lab.

"I know this may sound odd, but if you ever need to talk about the experience, I'm here to listen. It's hard to talk about sometimes, but having someone who's been through it to listen can be an asset. I think everyone on our team, except Greg, has been on the giving or taking end of a situation like that. He's had his own experiences, but it's different when it's in your face. Just make sure you work through it."

"I appreciate what you're saying... I do. Everyone keeps saying that, but it's not the first time I've been through it. I'm okay with it, but I understand what you're saying. I made my peace with the possibilities of what could happen a while back, and I accepted it this morning... Doesn't mean I want it to ever happen again, but I know the threat is always there, and I'm okay with it."

"Go easy on Grissom." Catherine drained the rest of her coffee into her mouth and sat the cup on the counter. "He's really affected by this. He might appear insensitive, but he just doesn't know how to show that he cares all the time."

"He's been really supportive. Truth be told, I was more worried about him when we were at the scene than I was about me. If I'd been killed, I think he'd have blamed himself for not taking the shot."

"Luckily, you're both okay. You have a good night off, and we'll see you back when you're ready to rejoin us in the trenches." She reached out and hugged Sara again, but tighter this time than the first time.

After she was gone, Sara went to her cell phone and hit the two button for speed-dialing Grissom's cell phone. She chuckled involuntarily when she thought of how the only reason he was not number one in that respect was because of a preprogrammed, unchangeable voicemail preset. He picked up on the first ring.

"_Hey," he answered_

"Hey. Did you actually look at the Caller ID this time?"

"_No, I never look at the Caller ID... You've got a special ring." He admitted the last part a little embarrassed._

"I've never heard any other ring than your usual one," she accused him, testing him to see if it was true.

"_That's because you're the only one with a special ring, and you're not exactly with me when you call."_

Thankful he could not see the blush creeping across her cheeks, Sara changed the subject. "Are you busy right now?"

"_No. I'm just wandering around. I wasn't ready to go home right away."_

"We're both off tonight on paid leave... I don't really feel like being alone tonight."

A knock came on her door at that moment. She smiled as if he would be able to see it through the phone, and the smile grew when she opened the door to see an equally happy Grissom on the other side. She reached out to grab his hand and pulled him inside. Clicking both of their phones shut, they hugged like that had been doing it for years rather then for the first time only a few hours before.

"I know we need to talk, and we will... but tonight... do you think you could just hold me?" Sara whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

He locked the door behind him as Sara led him down to her bedroom. They stripped down to their underwear and crawled into the sheets. Sara immediately fell into his embrace and snuggled as close as humanly possible. Within minutes she felt herself fighting sleep. Grissom held her until she fell asleep to the most peaceful sleep she had had in years.

As much as he wanted to watch her sleep and catalogue her movements for future reference, he realized he would have to save that for another of the many happy nights he could see in his future. His body was forcing him to succumb to the warmth and comfort provided by Sara's body, and he could not fathom a reason to disagree.

* * *

The End.

* * *

**A/N 3 –** An advance thank you to anyone who offers a review. I appreciate you taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoy it.


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